


Mug

by TheSushiMonster



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 06:55:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSushiMonster/pseuds/TheSushiMonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The coffee warms his fingers, and his heart thaws slowly; although the nightmares no longer dance in his vision, the suffocating feeling is only starting to ease away." Coulson wakes up to a quiet BUS on Christmas morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mug

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted yesterday, 12/25. (Kinda, it still counts though.) Note that this takes place post-"The Bridge", but it's most probably AU, and Coulson has returned the team.

The BUS is silent Christmas morning.

            Coulson wakes up early, his chest heavy and his eyes stuck shut; he feels sunlight on his bare legs, sheets wrapped around them, yet he feels so very cold. He wonders if May forgot to adjust the settings again, but then he feels the sweat covering his face and hands and chest. The nightmare still stings behind his closed eyelids, but part of him forgets instantly – there is no more death or blackness or a flower dress; it’s just the steady hum of his airplane and the warm presence of his team.

            When he walks through the kitchen, he is only mildly surprised to find Fitzsimmons whispering over cups of tea and nursing a pile of gifts, wrapping paper strewn around them. They quiet when he enters, their eyes suddenly solemn, and Coulson wishes to see the string of lights wrapped around their nonexistent tree in their eyes again.

            “Merry Christmas,” he says instead. He grabs a coffee filter and places it into the machine, pretending to not to notice a series of glances and signals passed silently between the two. So when Fitz finally says something – probably due to Simmons’ insistence – Coulson just smiles.

            “Did you sleep well, sir?” says Fitz, the hardness in his voice undercut by his fidgeting.

“I hope we didn’t disturb you – “ says Simmons. Coulson finds himself frowning at her frown.

“ – we didn’t mean to wake up so early – “

“ – but it is Christmas.”

Coulson shakes his head. “I’m surprised Skye isn’t here to join you, to be honest.” Smiling feels awkward, like a cold sock already worn, but his muscles seem to adjust easily. “But since you two are the first awake, you can have your present first.”

They look at each other with unreadable expressions, but Simmons is the first to beam. “You got us presents, sir?”

“From the mountain of presents on this table, Simmons, I expect you two did the same.”

Simmons blushes and nods, gently sliding a box down the table towards him. “From both Fitz and I,” she says, her smile pink and her eyes gold. Fitz just nods.

Coulson eyes the gift before picking it up. The smell of coffee has begun to spread and he suspects soon Ward will wander towards them, a morning workout already under his belt. “You two may want to head over to the lab.” Fitzsimmons begin speaking at once and Coulson lifts a finger to quiet them. “Trust me.”

So Fitzsimmons leave, and as Fitz slips out the door, Ward enters, a towel around his neck and his shirt drenched in sweat. “Good morning, sir,” he says, grabbing an apple from the fridge and downing water from his bottle.

“Merry Christmas, Agent Ward,” says Coulson, pouring himself a cup of coffee. The steam floats up from his mug and Coulson wonders if his face looks as tired as he feels. “You may want to head back to your bunk soon, before Skye steals your present.”

Ward frowns, his hand halfway to his mouth, his half-eaten apple resting in wrapped fingers. “Present?”

Coulson raises an eyebrow. “Yes, present. It’s Christmas.”

“Sir – I didn’t get you – I didn’t think – Christmas isn’t very big - “

“Grant,” says Coulson, lowering his mug, the dark black liquid reflecting nothing except the artificial lighting. “Go.”

So Ward leaves, and Coulson takes in a deep breath in the silence. The coffee warms his fingers, and his heart thaws slowly; although the nightmares no longer dance in his vision, the suffocating feeling is only starting to ease away. It’s after another sip of his coffee that May walks in.

She nods at the sight of him; black leather glitters in the bright lighting of the kitchen, even as May slips around the area. Coulson sees it almost as a dance; from fridge to counter to table to stove, May prepares breakfast for herself, only glancing at him twice. Once, to wish him good morning; the second time, it’s after he wishes her a Merry Christmas.

“It doesn’t seem very merry,” she says, searching for her mug in the small cabinet above the sink. “No tree.”

“I noticed that,” says Coulson, staring at his own mug now. He thinks he can see the outline of a house, but maybe that’s just his face. “I guess no one felt up to it.”

May looks at him. It’s that look that speaks with emotions rather than words, that makes his chest ache just slightly. Coulson blinks, trying his best to look away before May can see the dark circles and the hesitant flinches. But May’s too good. “No one? Or you?”

She knows the answer to her own question, of course; but Coulson knows she still searches for a reply, because her gaze never wavers. He sighs. “Everyone seems to be very wrapped up in their own worlds – recuperating and taking time to gather themselves.” Coulson swirls the mug, letting the coffee stain the sides of the cup. “It doesn’t seem like the time to be forcing team bonding.”

“I don’t think you realize how much of an impact you have, Phil,” says May, her soft voice tinted with the edge of someone burdened by sorrow and pain. Regret, too, stains her words; but it’s the disappointment that screams the most. “Without you, we almost fell apart.”

“But you didn’t.” He knows the stories; he’s been briefed.

“No,” says May, shutting off the stove and facing him completely. “But almosts are not far from what-ifs – a place you and I both know are dangerous waters.” She pulls out the chair beside him, interlocking her fingers over the table as she takes a seat. “Sir, the reason no one feels like celebrating the holidays is because  _you_  don’t feel like celebrating the holidays.”

“But I got everyone gifts – “

“Because it’s all about gifts, right?” May stands up again, picking up her plate of scrambled eggs and a banana. “And the tree and the tinsel and the mistletoe – “

“No,” says Coulson and May nods. “Did they say anything – “

“They didn’t have to.”

And May leaves, but Coulson is too busy staring at the box still sitting beside him. Ignoring his empty mug in favor of the gift, he unwraps the present with care. And when he’s staring at an Avengers t-shirt, Iron Man and Captain America and the Hulk and Hawkeye and Black Widow and Thor all staring back at him, he feels that last bit of constriction in his chest fade away.

And then the plan falls into place, simply all at once.

* * *

            Skye wakes up much later than usual, the sun burning through the curtains of her bunk. Eyeing the alarm clock on her nightstand, she’s surprised Ward hasn’t already woken her for training; but then again, it _is_  Christmas and maybe Ward isn’t  _exactly_  human but he’s probably not completely robotic either. She should really have Fitz check.

            When Skye went to bed the previous night, there were no signs that it was Christmas Eve; no tree, no lights, no cookies and milk left on the table. Sometimes Skye wonders if all of SHIELD had no regard for the holiday – but then she’d overhear Fitzsimmons reminiscing about holidays past and Ward grumbling about family gatherings. So Skye wonders if maybe it’s just her that feels like it isn’t really  _Christmas._

            Skye leaves her bunk and wonders which of her makeshift family journeyed to Christmases past, leaving an overnight miracle in their wake.

            May is smiling, watching Ward try to pick the right Jenga piece to pull away. Coulson, sitting opposite Ward, shakes his head. “Definitely not that one,” he says and Ward glares at him. Skye bites her lip to stop from grinning, but she’s smiling anyway because Fitzsimmons spot her immediately.

            “Skye!” says Simmons, bringing everyone’s attention to her. “Coulson got us gifts!” She’s cuddling what looks like a stick; Fitz is running his fingers down an identical one.

            “What are they – “ says Skye, and even before she finishes, she regrets starting because Fitzsimmons start explaining, in mirrored and knotted sentences, about new SHIELD devices, prototype sevens, not even cleared for field use yet. Skye is sure there’s something about electricity and brain waves and measurements in their rants, but they speak so fast that their voices are a racing blur. So instead she nods and glances over to May, who shrugs.

            And then Ward swears.

            The Jenga pile comes crashing down, Coulson beaming amist the wreckage. “I knew this was a great present.” Ward says nothing, almost sulking, and Skye grins.

            “Aw, did my SO lose? Seems like you’re not so great at board games after all.”

            “I can take you in monopoly, any day,” says Ward, gathering the pieces together to begin building again. “Or Risk. I’m great at Risk.”

            “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” says Skye, taking a seat between Ward and Fitz, who starts swinging his new gift around. Skye’s saved from grabbing the thing away from him when Simmons squeaks and starts rambling about the hidden knob at the end. “From you?” she asks Coulson instead, gesturing to Fitzsimmons’ new toys.

            Coulson smiles and there’s something different about it; Skye thinks she sees shadows receding – _finally_  – and she understands then that maybe it’s no ghost visiting Ebenezer Coulson, but just Melinda May. “Your present can be found in the kitchen. I believe Fitzsimmons got you something as well.”

            Skye wants to dive over the couch and scramble towards her gifts immediately; but with Fitz jumping up and down beside her and Coulson’s gaze filled with light for once, she stays still. Presents can be opened later; this – May pointing to the engravings on Fitzsimmons’ staffs, Ward muttering about luck, Coulson smiling at her warmly – is what she has been waiting for.  _This_  feels more like Christmas.

            Coulson later brings mugs of hot chocolate for all of them. Skye drops in marshmallows in the shape of a smiley face; when Coulson laughs, he swirls his own cup, glancing at the stains of hot chocolate on the side of his mug. His face is a cross between a smile and a frown; despite the contradictory expression, Skye knows that his shoulders seem much straighter.

            (Later, Skye opens her gifts in the privacy of her own bunk. Fitzsimmons give back her phone, newly adjusted to take sensory readings and translate them into code.

            Coulson gives her a puzzle.)


End file.
